Glad you are here
by Harlequinn
Summary: Schuldich and Farfarello contemplate the simple things in life. Each other.
1. Schu

"Glad you are here" Harlequinn.  
  
Schuldich and Farfarello contemplate the simple things in life. Each other.  
  
This fic depicts the start of a beautiful relationship between two members of the same sex. I suppose all you anti-yaoi type will be hitting back on your browser now.  
  
Note: I have written this fic in a rather unconventional style, in that it is written in first person and is more like a flow of consciousness rather than a structured story. I am sorry if this annoys people, but it is a style that I am particularly fond of.  
  
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is property of Project Weiss. If I owned it, then it would be called Schwarz Kreuz.  
  
For those few I haven't scared off yet, I present to you my latest baby.  
  
***  
  
Stupid friggin' key, won't fit in the stupid friggin' lock.  
  
Fumble. Drop the key. Bend down, pick it up. Pause.  
  
Hear a sound.  
  
Scheiße!  
  
They must have followed me.  
  
Getting frantic.  
  
Fumble. Shove key in lock. Turn. Open.  
  
Fall inside the door. Turn, slam it shut behind me.  
  
It's ok, I'm safe. Well, not safe. I'm never safe. But I'm temporarily out of harm's way.  
  
Check the clock on the wall.  
  
2:00am.  
  
God, I hate this time of the morning.  
  
Oh well, at least it means everybody is asleep. Well, should be asleep. I'll just quickly creep into my room and Brad will be none the wiser. He really doesn't need to know that I've been out all night.  
  
Another sound. Coming from the kitchen this time.  
  
Panic.  
  
There's someone in our apartment.  
  
Pull out gun. Flick hair out of eyes.  
  
Deep breath.  
  
Walk into the kitchen and see him sitting there.  
  
I laugh. Harsh laughter.  
  
"Fuck Farf, you scared the shit outta me." My voice sounds tired.  
  
He doesn't respond.  
  
He just sites there. Just like the first time I ever saw him. Well, it hadn't been the first time I'd seen him, exactly, but it had been the first time I'd ever seen his face. The first time I'd ever spoken to him.  
  
He is sitting cross legged on the bench, by the blender, with a pile of fruit in his lap.  
  
I swear, he loves that thing. It's quite disturbing, really.  
  
I stand and watch him.  
  
His slow, lethargic movements are hypnotic.  
  
I watch as he laboriously peels each piece of fruit. After the fruit has been stripped of it's skin, he places it in the blender.  
  
He then hits the puree switch.  
  
We both watch as the fruit is slowly blended into the mess of pureed fruits already in there.  
  
I've seen him do this before. After a minute he will turn the blender off and pick up another piece of fruit, to start the process over once more.  
  
He does this so intently, with a wrapt fascination, as though he has never seen a blender before.  
  
He does it so seriously, that one can't laugh at him. That would be like laughing at a funeral.  
  
That was a rather strange analogy for me to make considering that I have never had any qualms with laughing at a funeral before. Whatever. It's late and I am tired.  
  
He randomly picks up another piece of fruit and starts to peel it. Well, it looks like it's random, but I know it's not. Once I sat and watched him go through an entire pile of fruit, and I saw the pattern.  
  
He starts with the smallest, and then he goes to the largest. Then he gets the smallest one left, and the largest one left and so on.  
  
I don't think he realises that he does this. Picks them up in a pattern, that is. I think he does it subconsciously. He does a lot of things subconsciously.  
  
He doesn't appear to notice me, although I'm sure he has.  
  
I walk over to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of orange juice. I don't bother to get a glass; I simply drink the juice straight out of the container.  
  
If Brad or Nagi were here, they would have scolded me. But as it is, Farfie is the only one here, and he couldn't give a rat's ass whether or not I use a glass.  
  
He said so himself.  
  
Things like that don't seem to worry him. If I give him meningococcal he'll probably enjoy it anyway.  
  
So, I sit down on a stool, drinking the orange juice. I turn to face Farfie as he continues to puree the fruit.  
  
He's off his face.  
  
It's really quite sad.  
  
Brad must have given him a dose after I left. He needn't have bothered, it was pointless really.  
  
If Farfie puts his mind to it, he can do anything, regardless of whether or not he is pumped up with enough tranquillisers to kill an elephant.  
  
Admittedly, however, the tranquillisers, or sedatives or whatever they are do help to calm him down.  
  
Well, sort of.  
  
I think that they help by making messages bypass his brain. I mean, he probably still has the same crazy thoughts, only the drugs help him to contemplate the pros and cons of each thought before acting on it.  
  
He isn't crazy. He just doesn't care about consequences.  
  
Well, that's my theory. But what would I know? I'm not a trained psychologist or anything. Hell, for all I know, the definition of craziness is somebody who never bothers to consider consequences.  
  
In that case, he's ape shit insane.  
  
I wonder what it is, exactly, that Brad gives him. I just assume that it is a tranquilliser of some sort, because it usually slows him down.  
  
I remember when I asked Nagi what it was, and he had grunted something about shit that was intended for stupid wild animals, not Farfarello.  
  
It goes without saying that Nagi doesn't approve of drugging Farfie. I don't think he approves of drugs of any sort, which would explain his seeming dislike of me.  
  
I snap out of my train of thoughts and look back up at Farfie.  
  
I always get lost in my own thoughts at times like these. Times like these when there is nobody around and the only thoughts in my head are my own.  
  
When you live a life where the majority of the thoughts in your head don't belong to you, then you learn to savour the peaceful times where there is only your own thoughts.  
  
Well, there is Farfie here, but his thoughts don't bother me.  
  
In fact, I quite enjoy the peaceful mantra that seems to run through his head 24/7.  
  
God. Hurt. God. Die. Schuldich. Blood. God. Pain. Live. Knife. Tree. God. Ruth. Hurt. Scar. Die.  
  
Never a coherent sentence. Just detached words.  
  
God is always there.  
  
So is death.  
  
The name Ruth started popping up every now and then after that incident in the church.  
  
And yes, sometimes my own name will appear in his little mantra.  
  
My favourite thing, however, is the random words that sometimes appear. It's kinda cute.  
  
Of course, this isn't to say that the only thing he ever thinks is random words. Oh no.  
  
He's far deeper than that.  
  
The only problem is that his real thoughts are buried.  
  
Just below the surface, I'll find simple thoughts. I am walking down stairs. There is blood on my arm. I hate Crawford.  
  
No fruity language, just things that are happening.  
  
Most people have these little thoughts. But I like Farfie's the best.  
  
His are simple and straight to the point. Naïve almost.  
  
Below that we reach deeper, far more dangerous territory.  
  
I ventured there once and felt like I was going insane myself.  
  
Never again.  
  
It's a mess down there.  
  
Of course, I generally try to stay out of his head as an act of courtesy.  
  
I don't feel comfortable raping his mind like that.  
  
Wow. I contemplate Farfie way too much. I should be getting myself off to bed now.  
  
He's nearly finished the pile of fruit. The blender is just about to overflow. Not that an overflowing blender has ever stopped him from finishing a pile of fruit.  
  
Yes, I really should go to bed now.  
  
I take a closer look at him. It figures. What I had originally thought was fruit juice running down his arms is blood.  
  
He must have cut himself again.  
  
He does that sometimes.  
  
Personally, I am anti-pain and pro-pleasure. But yeah, whatever turns him on, I guess.  
  
Something soft and wet suddenly slaps the side of my face and slowly slides down my cheek.  
  
Looks like the blender has finally overflowed.  
  
"Yuck Farf, turn it off." I mutter as I wipe my face with the back of my hand, only to feel more pureed fruit splatter over various other parts of my body.  
  
He pays me no heed.  
  
He just sits there.  
  
Pureed fruit continues to splatter all over the kitchen. All over him.  
  
I storm over and switch off the damn blender.  
  
He just stays sitting there on the bench as though nothing is happening.  
  
I lean over and stick my face right in front of his.  
  
No reaction.  
  
His eye is closed. His face is blank.  
  
He looks peaceful. Almost.  
  
I move my face closer, intentionally invading his personal space.  
  
Normally he lashes out at anybody who comes within a 1 metre radius of him, but he's just sitting there.  
  
I move my face closer still. Our noses almost touching.  
  
I feel his breath on my face. Well at least that means he's alive.  
  
I stand like this a while longer and wait for him to move.  
  
Nothing. It's like he's in a fucking trance or something.  
  
Slowly, I reach my arm around and gently tap him on the head.  
  
His eye snaps open.  
  
Intense Amber glares at me.  
  
He would look intimidating were it not for the fact that a huge lump of pinkish pureed fruit was slowly dripping down his face.  
  
"Good morning." I whisper with a slight grin.  
  
He doesn't respond. He just stares at me blankly.  
  
The pureed fruit slides past the corner of his mouth and pauses there for a second.  
  
My hand darts out and wipes the fruit away.  
  
I bring my hand back to my own mouth and lick the pureed mess.  
  
"Those were my strawberries, Farf. I asked you not to use them."  
  
Blank stare.  
  
I sigh.  
  
I hate it when he's like this.  
  
"I'm going to bed now, Farf. I suggest you do too. It's late."  
  
I take a step back and watch him for another moment before turning around and starting to walk out of the room.  
  
A hoarse whisper.  
  
"Good night, Schuldich."  
  
I don't turn around.  
  
I don't want to get distracted again.  
  
I flick my wrist in the air to indicate that I heard him as I continue to walk towards my room.  
  
Ah, warm bed.  
  
Deep sleep.  
  
Good night Farfie.  
  
*TBC*  
  
Well there ya have it. Please review if you feel so inclined. If you're gonna flame, make sure justify your hatred of my fic. 


	2. Farf

Glad you are here 02  
  
Harlequinn  
  
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is property of Project Weiss. If I owned it, then Farfie wouldn't always be drawn from strange angles with distorted features. The lyrics to 'Across the Night' and 'Black Tangled Heart' belong to the almighty Silverchair.  
  
Thank you so much to those who reviewed my last chapter. I love you all.  
  
*edit* I fixed up the whole Crawford doesn't speak English thing. Yeah, I know that Crawford is American and that he even occasionally says English things in the series. I didn't mean for it to sound like he doesn't speak English, I just must have deleted the lines following the "Crawford doesn't understand them" statement. All fixed now. *kicks self* Thanks to Miko for pointing it out for me, yo.  
  
Different POV this time, as if you couldn't figure it out yourself.  
  
***  
  
"Farfarello! Stop that!"  
  
Slowly turn around.  
  
Glare.  
  
"Don't stick knives into the toaster."  
  
Crawford.  
  
Thinks he knows everything.  
  
How am I supposed to extract the toast if not through the use of a knife?  
  
"Yeah, Farfie, you're supposed to use your fingers, not a knife."  
  
Schuldich.  
  
Thought he was still asleep.  
  
He was up so late last night.  
  
I wonder what he does when he goes out late at night?  
  
Turn back around.  
  
Stick fingers in toaster.  
  
Hot.  
  
Hell is hot.  
  
God doesn't like hot.  
  
"Schuldich, don't encourage him."  
  
Crawford doesn't like it when Schuldich talks to me.  
  
Hot.  
  
"Farfarello! Get your damn fingers out of there!"  
  
Remove fingers.  
  
They weren't working anyway. I couldn't reach the toast.  
  
Smash.  
  
The toaster is lying on the floor.  
  
Broken.  
  
I wonder how that happened?  
  
Perhaps I threw it.  
  
"Temper, temper."  
  
Schuldich. He thinks that the broken toaster is funny.  
  
I do not. I wanted some toast.  
  
Crawford is angry. He is yelling.  
  
He is telling Schuldich to take me out.  
  
We have a mission.  
  
I like missions because it means people will die.  
  
When people die, God cries.  
  
Schuldich walks over to me. He grabs my arm. He pulls me along behind him.  
  
Doesn't he realise that all he needs to do is tell me to come with him?  
  
I will follow him wherever he tells me to go.  
  
I know that I shouldn't follow him. It isn't safe to trust people.  
  
I don't want to trust Schuldich.  
  
We are walking out the door.  
  
Down the stairs.  
  
"Nothing exciting today, I'm afraid, Farfie."  
  
He always calls me Farfie. I don't really like it. It is a silly name.  
  
"It'll be a long drive."  
  
I smile.  
  
I like driving.  
  
I like driving with Schuldich. He drives fast.  
  
We reach the car.  
  
It is red. The colour of blood.  
  
It has no roof. What kind of a silly car has no roof?  
  
I have never seen it before.  
  
Schuldich opens the driver door. He gets in and closes the door. He looks at me. He is waiting for me to get in.  
  
He is waiting for me.  
  
I open the door. I get in. I sit down.  
  
Why aren't we moving?  
  
I freeze.  
  
Schuldich is leaning across me. His body presses against mine.  
  
I feel strange.  
  
He grabs the seatbelt and pulls it around me.  
  
Oh.  
  
"Better safe than sorry, ja?"  
  
I don't like seatbelts. They remind me of my jacket.  
  
"Y'know, just on case of sudden stoppages, we wouldn't want that pretty head of yours to go smashing through the windscreen."  
  
He pats my leg. I look away.  
  
I like it when he touches me. But maybe God likes it too.  
  
I don't think I like it when he touches me anymore.  
  
He turns the key. The engine starts. We slowly start to move.  
  
I like driving with Schuldich. He drives fast.  
  
We pull out into the street. I think today will be a good day.  
  
Not like most other days. With their mindless monotony and only my own stupid thoughts to keep me company  
  
I can feel the wind in my hair. It feels nice.  
  
We pass a church. Schuldich speeds up. I don't think he wants me to see it.  
  
I don't care. It's only a stupid church.  
  
If all those stupid people want to believe in that lying bastard God then it's fine by me. If they believe in him now then it will make them twice as sad when they find out how false he is. If they are twice as sad then I am twice as happy.  
  
I don't care about those stupid people attending the church.  
  
It's the people who preach at the church who piss me off.  
  
But they too will realise in time.  
  
I do not feel like getting blood on me today.  
  
Schuldich says I smell when I get blood on me.  
  
I do not want Schuldich to think I smell.  
  
We have passed the church.  
  
Schuldich is looking at me, smiling. He is glad I did not make a fuss about the church.  
  
"I do not feel like getting blood on me today."  
  
Schuldich laughs.  
  
His laugh sounds nice. I wish he would laugh more often.  
  
"At the rate we're going, I don't think you'll have the chance to get any blood on you. Brad's sent us on some crazy cross country trek. We'll be lucky if we get there by nightfall."  
  
I wonder why Crawford is sending us so far away?  
  
I wonder what our mission is?  
  
Not that it matters.  
  
I think that all I shall worry about now is the wind in my hair.  
  
I like driving with Schuldich. He drives fast.  
  
He doesn't mind that I don't like to talk.  
  
I don't think that he wants to talk right now either.  
  
Schuldich takes his eyes off the road for a moment.  
  
He leans over and switches on the radio.  
  
His hand brushes past my knee.  
  
"...Maybe you'll kill yourself  
  
Before I get a turn  
  
Maybe I'll fall in love  
  
And never learn..."  
  
Oh. It's a cd.  
  
I like it when Schuldich plays his cd's.  
  
Most of them are English.  
  
Nagi and Crawford don't understand them, but we do.  
  
Well Crawford does understand the language, I guess. But he still doesn't like Schuldich's music for some reason.  
  
Crawford doesn't like anything that Schuldich likes.  
  
I guess that includes me.  
  
Anyway, it's our special music. Just for us.  
  
He has some German music too, but when he is with me he plays the English ones.  
  
He plays the English ones for me.  
  
We drive along, the wind in my hair and the music reverberating around the car.  
  
I like driving with Schuldich. He drives fast.  
  
I look over at Schuldich.  
  
The wind is blowing his hair all over the place.  
  
It looks like fire.  
  
I wish I could touch it.  
  
I wonder what it feels like to have long hair that blows in the wind like that?  
  
"It really isn't worth it. Long hair, that is. A real bitch to keep it clean."  
  
Glare.  
  
"What? Can I help it if you think so loud?"  
  
Look away.  
  
Schuldich shrugs.  
  
He leans over.  
  
He is turning the volume of the cd up.  
  
"...Never seen the sunshine  
  
From higher points than sunrise  
  
I don't wanna be lonely  
  
I just wanna be alone..."  
  
His hand doesn't brush past my knee this time.  
  
I wonder who sings this song?  
  
I like it.  
  
We turn a corner.  
  
I notice now that we are no longer in the heart of the city.  
  
We're out where there are trees and stuff.  
  
The sun is shining in my eye.  
  
Squint.  
  
I look over at Schuldich again.  
  
I wonder why he wears those sunglasses on top of his head instead of over his eyes?  
  
Especially now that the sun is shining right through the front window.  
  
Look away.  
  
Schuldich leans over.  
  
Adjusting the radio again?  
  
Something on top of my head.  
  
Sunglasses.  
  
I raise my arm and flick them down so that they sit on my nose.  
  
Everything darkens.  
  
The sun's light no longer bothers me. God's bright shining sun no longer bothers me. Schuldich's sunglasses are shielding me from God's bright light.  
  
We continue to drive into the sun.  
  
Schuldich starts to sing to the music.  
  
"...Sleepless, untamed without a leash on the light around me..."  
  
Smile.  
  
I like driving with Schuldich. He drives fast.  
  
I like driving with Schuldich.  
  
And he knows it.  
  
*TBC*  
  
I didn't mean to make Farfie sound childish or simple or anything...I just wanted everything he said to come across as almost painfully blunt. Usually when he talks in the series, everything he says is straight and to the point. He doesn't waste time with flowery language. I figured he would think in much the same way. And yes, I know he probably sounds a bit uncharacteristically sane and rational, but keep in mind, these aren't his actual personal thoughts, as of such. It is just some primitive part of his mind observing things.  
  
Well there ya have it. Please review if you feel so inclined, as feedback of any sort is welcomed with open arms. However, if you're gonna flame, please try to justify your hatred of my work so I can go about improving it. 


	3. Schu

Glad you are here 03  
  
Harlequinn  
  
You know the drill, don't own, don't sue.  
  
To those who have reviewed my fic, I love you all. Your kind words make me feel all happy and fluffy inside and give me the motivation to go on (well, it's a healthy mix of you guys and the thought of Schu and Farf getting together that provides me with the motivation) I love each and every one of you and if I knew where you lived then I would send you all freshly baked cookies. And thank you to miko for pointing out my dumb mistake *kicks self*  
  
Schu's POV again.  
  
***  
  
Country road.  
  
Rolling hills.  
  
Green Grass.  
  
God, this shit bores me.  
  
I swear, Brad is going to die a most horrible death when I get my hands on him. Fuck, I mean, he doesn't even tell me where I'm going, he just gives me a car, a map and tells me to 'get there by nightfall. Oh, and take Farfarello with you'.  
  
Ok, so the 'take Farfie with you' bit I don't mind, but the whole cross country trek with no apparent purpose annoys me greatly.  
  
Oh well, could be worse. I could have been stuck with Nagi. Or Brad.  
  
Oh look, on the horizon. A small country town, how quaint.  
  
Gag.  
  
Speed up.  
  
Speed up for no reason in particular other than I feel like speeding up.  
  
Look over at Farfie. He smiles slightly. Me thinks he likes going fast.  
  
We approach the town at an alarming rate and I want to keep speeding through it so I will not have to look at it.  
  
No such luck. Some asshole in front of us is gunning his car at about 3 kilometres an hour. I sound the horn loudly. The asshole ignores me and refuses to speed up.  
  
Godamnit, people are so inconsiderate of others. Well, old man, you leave me no choice. Well, I assume it is an old man on account of it is usually old men who drive so friggin' slowly.  
  
Pull up onto the kerb and overtake him.  
  
Yeah.  
  
Speed up, here we go.  
  
Scheiße!  
  
Siren.  
  
Since when do small country towns have policemen on patrol?  
  
The police car is almost on my tail. Damn. Might as well pull over. After all, I wasn't speeding, officer. Oh no, not me, I never speed.  
  
I suppose that been a telepath does have its up side.  
  
Slow down.  
  
Pull over.  
  
Stop.  
  
Lazy grin. "What seems to be the problem, sir?" Smooth.  
  
"You speedin' through this here town like a bat outta hell be the problem, y'hear?"  
  
Wow, well, now I know that brains definitely aren't in the criteria for becoming a policeman.  
  
"Show me yer licence, y'hear?"  
  
Yeah, yeah, I hear you.  
  
Dig around in pockets for wallet.  
  
Pull out licence.  
  
"Here ya go." Sweet smile.  
  
Dig into the policeman's brain. Wow...what a simpleton. This certainly isn't going to challenge my telepathic ability too much.  
  
I wasn't speeding.  
  
The policeman looks confused. "I...wasn't...speeding?" He says slowly.  
  
Heh, whoops.  
  
The gorgeous red haired man you see before you was not speeding.  
  
He seems to take a second to digest this information before saying, "No problem, move along, move along." And with this he ushers us away.  
  
I snatch my drivers licence out of his grubby hands and take off again.  
  
I grab my wallet and go to put the licence back in.  
  
What?  
  
Where'd my licence go? I was sure I had...  
  
"Christian Schreiber?"  
  
"You wanna make something of it, Jei?"  
  
Snatch the licence back.  
  
Evil bastard had no right to look at that!  
  
I look awful in my licence photo!  
  
Oh, and then there's the fact that he now knows my, gag, real name.  
  
Look over at Farfarello. A small smile graces his lips. Wow...he has nice lips. Can't believe I never noticed before.  
  
Wait! No...that's not the point. The point is he looked at my licence and in the process invaded my privacy.  
  
But seriously, Even with that small scar* cutting through the bottom lip, they still look so perfect. Even more perfect because they're not perfect. Does that make sense? I bet they're soft too...I wonder if...  
  
"Eyes on the road, please."  
  
What? Oh, yes, heh, oops.  
  
"How you got your licence is beyond me." He mutters.  
  
"Oh haha, aren't you just the funniest bastard ever to walk the planet."  
  
Craving.  
  
What am I craving?  
  
A cigarette.  
  
Pull over again. If I keep stopping like this we'll never get there.  
  
"I need a smoke" I inform Farfie as I stop the car and get out.  
  
"Yay." He mutters.  
  
Open the door. Climb out. Dig around in pockets. Pull out cigarette. Pull out lighter. Fire. Smoke. Deep breath. Much better.  
  
"Can't you come up with a more creative way to kill yourself?" Farfie asks unenthusiastically.  
  
I lean over. Stick my face in front of his. Blow smoke.  
  
He wrinkles his nose in disgust.  
  
"Heh, you look cute when screw up your nose like that." I say with a grin.  
  
He looks at me in confusion for a second before disregarding what I just said.  
  
Suddenly my eye is drawn once again to those damned lips of his. I wonder if they really are as soft as they look...  
  
His tongue darts out for a second, licking his lips slightly before disappearing again.  
  
He frowns slightly as I continue to stare.  
  
"Um...Schuldich...what are you doing?"  
  
"Staring at you."  
  
Heh, might as well tell him the truth.  
  
"Oh..."  
  
Continue staring.  
  
Reach hand out.  
  
Cup cheek.  
  
Run thumb across lips.  
  
Hm, soft.  
  
"Schuldich?"  
  
His voice is quiet.  
  
"Yes, Farfie?"  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Good point. What AM I doing?  
  
"Nothing. Sorry Farf." I ruffle his hair affectionately and lean back, putting out my cigarette on the sole of my shoe. "We really should get going."  
  
He smiles slightly and rolls his eye, "Well I certainly hope I haven't been holding you up," he mutters dryly. Oh haha Farf.  
  
Walk back around to the other side of the car. Open door. Climb in. Sit down. Start engine.  
  
Hm, I really should quit.  
  
Smoking, that is.  
  
Like Farf said, I'm sure there are plenty of far more creative ways to kill myself.  
  
Not that I would, mind you.  
  
I'm quite happy with the way things are going.  
  
As we speed up I look over at Farf.  
  
He's staring up at the sky and absentmindedly touching his lips.  
  
Yes, I think I am definitely happy with the way things are going.  
  
*TBC*  
  
*Although the scar on his bottom lip can't be seen in most pics, I have a couple of official ones where it can be seen. So don't rat me off for making up stuff. Heh.  
  
Well there ya go. More in next chapter, I promise! Boo, Schu for been boring! Heh, sorry, my bad. *ashamed*  
  
Please review if you feel so inclined. I ask nicely that flamers try to justify their hatred of my fic so I can go about improving it. 


End file.
